


Reversion

by xtwilightzx (blackidyll)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Human Names, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 09:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7839469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackidyll/pseuds/xtwilightzx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred doesn’t see the glimmer of a switchblade flipping open and shut, open and shut, an implicit threat. </p>
<p>Arthur does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reversion

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [LiveJournal](http://xtwilightzx.livejournal.com/45358.html), and migrated here to AO3 for a lovely anon.

Alfred likes to think he knows more of Arthur than anyone else in the world. Sure, France has known Arthur longer and the European nations have their cozy little union. It’s Arthur, however, and there’s just something different about his and Alfred’s relationship, something tenuous and fragile and jagged but unbreakable about their bond.   
  
That’s why Alfred knows that there is a whole side the English nation doesn’t show to the modern world.   
  
They’re wandering through the back alleys of London’s streets, shoulder to shoulder, hands and fingers brushing every so often. Perhaps Alfred was being a little too loud, a little too clingy, a little too happy to be with Arthur and not have to worry about the economic crisis or the political shuffle back home. He slips heavily into the Boston accent, all clipped r’s and missing pauses and sharp consonants, and he’s a little distracted by the little smile quirking at the corner of Arthur’s mouth to notice the angry glare and low growl the drunk man around the street corner shoots them.

Alfred doesn’t see the glimmer of a switchblade flipping open and shut, open and shut, an implicit threat.   
  
Arthur does.   
  
It’s only because Alfred can’t quite keep his eyes off the other nation to begin with that he sees something snap in Arthur’s eyes, and England is gone, ducking clean under Alfred’s arm in a shadowy blur. There’s a crunch of bone and cartilage and the drunk reels backwards, blood spilling from his nose. England falls back into a semi-crouch, eyes trailing the man’s every movement. He’s quiet, so quiet, but his lips break into a savage grin when the drunk snaps his switchblade open with a hiss of air.   
  
Alfred almost draws his gun on the man right there and then, but a sudden deep gash tears itself across the drunk’s arm, a blooming line of red spreading up across his shoulder. Alfred springs immediately in front of the other nation, his eyes narrowed and on guard against this new assailant.   
  
“Shyla!” Alfred hears a note of alarm in that voice and relaxes, all at once. Arthur is back – and running off to the side, for some weird reason, completely ignoring the bleeding man and Alfred himself. The drunk falls back, cradling his arm to his chest, staring after Arthur’s receding form as if he can’t quite believe the blonde man in the sweater vest and tie just did a number on him.   
  
Or maybe the troublemaker is just wondering why he’s bleeding from an angry gash that the blonde man couldn’t possibly inflict, as far away as Arthur had been at that time.   
  
“Hey,” Alfred squats down before the thug. He smiles, flips his cell phone open and hits 9 three times. “You know, that was really stupid. You shouldn’t piss off your country.”   
  
The thug is gasping little hitching breathes now. “Why would we care? You’re just some bloody American and he’s a complete wanker.”   
  
Alfred shrugs. “It’s your call. Don’t worry, he won’t press charges. One more thing, though…”   
  
Alfred reaches over and pries the switchblade out of the thug’s clenched fingers, traps the blade under one shoe and snaps the switchblade cleanly in two. He tosses the handle back at the man and kicks the broken blade towards a drain grate. The girl on the emergency line is cool and collected and Alfred matches her tone for tone, rattling out the nearest crossroad and pretending not to see how further pale the thug goes, staring at the crumpled handle in his lap. 

\---

  
Alfred catches up to Arthur easily; he just follows the low murmured voice, tinged with exasperation, the one Alfred knows Arthur uses to hide his concern.   
  
“—thought I taught you better manners than that. You’re supposed to be the symbol of purity! You just can’t go around injuring people this way.”   
  
There’s the suggestion of a single, sharp horn outlined in wet red in the air in front of Arthur. Alfred doesn’t see it for long, because Arthur swipes at the – floating – blood with his handkerchief, and the smears eventually fade from view.  
  
“Yes, I know.” Arthur blows out a sigh. The English nation sinks his fingers into what Alfred imagines to be the unicorn’s mane. “I was spoiling for a fight when that git pulled his switchblade out on Alfred that second time, I was that angry. I was trying to protect him and you protected me. Thank you.”  
  
_Arthur, you idiot, he pulled the knife on_  you, Alfred thinks but doesn’t say. He might be a hero, but he knows when not to interfere – he isn’t stupid, just impulsive.   
  
So Alfred jumps forward and drapes himself against Arthur’s back, leaning forward to rest his chin on one shoulder, pretending not to notice the stained handkerchief Arthur hurriedly tucks into his pants pocket. “You okay, Arthur?”   
  
Arthur’s eyelashes flutter close and open once before Arthur tilts towards him, their cheeks brushing. “I’m fine,” Arthur says, and then he pulls away, twisting around to face Alfred, raising one hand to tangle his fingers in Alfred’s windswept hair. “And you’re all right.”   
  
“I’m fine,” Alfred says to the not-question. The quiet stretches between them, Arthur’s fingers curling in tighter against the curve of Alfred’s head, and Alfred leaning in heavier and heavier into Arthur’s touch.   
  
Then suddenly, Arthur’s head snaps up. “Oh hell, we left that man bleeding on the street.  _My_  alley streets. We can’t leave him passed out on a street corner.” Arthur pulls away, his eyes full of mixed exasperation and chagrin.

Alfred catches hold of Arthur’s hand and stands firm against Arthur’s impulsive tug. “He’s fine. Well, he’s conscious and everything. Someone’s picking him up, and I don’t think,” Alfred gives a bark of laughter, “that he wants to see you again.”   
  
Arthur is blushing furiously now, as if Alfred had caught him doing something inappropriate and absolutely sexy instead of breaking a man’s nose in Alfred’s defense. There’s still something dangerous in Arthur’s eyes, however, as if the mere mention of the drunk is enough to put him on guard, so Alfred leans forward and brushes his lips against Arthur’s before pulling back and walking away, tugging Arthur along through their clasped hands.   
  
“Thank you,” Alfred murmurs.   
  
“Did you say something?” Arthur asks, drawing closer and lacing their fingers tighter together.   
  
“Nah.” Alfred flashes Arthur a broad smile, and wonders if the invisible unicorn heard him. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love England's modern personality, but I don't think he's as endearing as some make him out to be. He might be all roses and tea right now but he was once the British Empire of the world. Threaten anything Arthur holds dear, and I think he’ll revert right back. Also, I first wrote this because I wondered if Arthur's unicorns and fairies did more than just hang around him. Killer unicorns?


End file.
